


Damian Grayson

by alicecrow6



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent Talia al Ghul, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce Wayne is an okay parent, Damian Wayne Angst, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Has Feelings, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Damian Wayne-centric, Dead Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Gen, He tries but too little too late, He's pretty Bad at first, Hurt Damian Wayne, POV Damian Wayne, Tired Alfred Pennyworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26298694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicecrow6/pseuds/alicecrow6
Summary: “If I die-”“You won't” Damian tries to put as much authority into those two words as possible.“If I die, I give you permission to do whatever you wish with the mantle of Nightwing. If you want to bury it with me, if you want to give it to someone you find worthy, if- if you’d give me the honor of wearing it yourself,” Dick’s breath hitches and he gives a throaty cough.“Whatever you decide to do with Nightwing, I will be one hundred present behind you. It might not seem like much to you, but it’s mine, and now it’s yours too,” a hopeful smile stretches across Dick’s lips and Damian’s heart aches.“I know you want to be Batman, to wear the proof of your legacy, but I- I would be honored if you wore my colors” Dick’s breath sputters and Damian becomes less and less sure that help would arrive at all.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Suren Darga & Jon Kent & Maya Ducard & Colin Wilkes & Damian Wayne
Comments: 125
Kudos: 632





	1. Chapter 1

Damian desperately pushes against Dick’s wound. It was oozing blood and no matter how hard Damian pressed against it it wouldn't stop. His hands shake as he tries to put more pressure on the wound.

Why wouldn't it stop bleeding? 

A palm rests itself atop Damian’s trembling hands. Soon after another reaches up and cradles Damian’s face. It pushes Damian’s head upwards away from the wound and instead levels him to the eyes of the man attached to it.

He softly strokes Damian’s cheek and Damian, for once, leans into it, trying to absorb as much strength as he could from the man so willing to give it.

“If I die-”

“You won't” Damian tries to put as much authority into those two words as possible.

“If I die, I give you permission to do whatever you wish with the mantle of Nightwing. If you want to bury it with me, if you want to give it to someone you find worthy, if- if you’d give me the honor of wearing it yourself,” Dick’s breath hitches and he gives a throaty cough.

“Whatever you decide to do with Nightwing, I will be one hundred present behind you. It might not seem like much to you, but it’s mine, and now it’s yours too,” a hopeful smile stretches across Dick’s lips and Damian’s heart aches.

“I know you want to be Batman, to wear the proof of your legacy, but I- I would be honored if you wore my colors” Dick’s breath sputters and Damian becomes less and less sure that help would arrive at all.

“Not as much as I would be honored to wear them,” Damian’s eyes burn with unshed tears, his nose stings, and his throat tightens. 

Dick smiles, it’s an infectious smile that Damian can't help but return even though he feels like dying.

He has so many words he wishes to say to his mentor, so many feelings he’s held secret all these years, but when he opens his mouth to free them, he chokes on them instead.

And suddenly he can't seem to stop. His lungs constrict and his eyes finally burst with tears. His cries are far from silent. He desperately sucks in air but chokes on his own spit and hacks up whatever breath he’s gathered. He gags and hiccups and cries but none of it stops Dick from being dead.

Because he is, he’s dead and Damian can't stop sobbing. 

Damian screams and screams and screams until his throat cracks. He takes a breath from his mouth and it burns. It hurts but he can’t stop himself from gulping down more air like a man starved for it.

His cheeks are wet and his throat was dry but Damian couldn't stop.

He should have pressed harder. 

He doesn't know how much time passes before a heavy hand clamps down on Damian’s shoulder. It tries to pull him away, tries to make him leave but Damian wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to leave and he didn't think he’d ever be. They’d have to bury him with Dick.

He hurls the hand off his shoulder and throws himself on top of his brother, his mentor, his baba.

Why hasn't he told him? What had stopped him all those other times from opening his mouth and saying the one name he really wanted to call the man that made him into the person he was today?

Was it pride? Fear? Love? Perhaps it was all of that and more. It didn't matter anymore, not when it was too late to say it at all.

He digs his fingers into the corpse of Dick Grayson wonders if he could crawl into the man and lay under his skin.

Harsh hands try to tear him off but he only holds on tighter.

He holds and grips and clings.

He won't let go.

After a few minutes (seconds, hours, days) of this Damian tires and can hold on no longer.

They pull him off his mentor, his brother, his baba.

They pull him off and Damian kicks and scratches and screams. He’s a vessel of uncontrolled rage. He uses no method of finery to defeat the ones that dared to take him away from Dick, he simply moves. 

The first one is quickly knocked to the ground but another takes his place and this one is not so easily defeated.

His eyes are blurred from tears but Damian pushes past it. He pushes past everything. 

The man kicks him in the stomach and Damian’s breath is knocked out of him. He tries to push himself up but he’s hit once again.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused as more tears escape, making a red trail down his face.

Darkness creeps in from the corners of his vision and Damian has never been more afraid.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up shaking. Cold sweat burns on his skin as he wraps his arms around himself only to unwind them as his clothes cling to his thin frame. He rubs his thighs together in an attempt to warm himself but they slide uncomfortably against one another as the feeling of liquid fire his sweat has become leaves him chilled.

Soon, however, his head clears and he robotically leaves the bed, his thoughts hazy.

He removes his clothes, takes a quick shower, puts on his outfit for the day, and then leaves the safe haven his room had become.

The world outside was sharper, it’s colors were brighter and it’s sounds were less muffled. Damian hated it.

D___ was-

Di__ was-

Dic_ was- 

Damian entered the kitchen. It was empty. There was no sizzling or chopping or tapping, which was strange, Alfred was usually very punctual with breakfast.   
Whatever, it mattered not. He’d just grab something from the fridge. 

Damian grabbed a carton of milk and ruffled around the counters until he found some cereal.

It was ____’s favorite.

It was D-

It was Di-

It was Dic-

Damian put it back.

He guessed he just wasn't that hungry.

Damian left the kitchen.

Damian moved to the library. He had a book he had wanted to finish anyway.

His steps echoed loudly, too loudly. He winced at the noise, his brain was throbbing as pain laced the sides of his head.

He opened the door and was greeted with the sound muffing carpet.

Good.

He walked towards the seat that he had claimed as his. It had a comforter on it. Damian picked up the blanket, it was blue and fuzzy and-

“Come on little D, you're gonna catch a cold like that” a warm voice muttered in his ear.

Damian dropped the blanket like it was a hot coal.

Damian turned around and left.

He guessed he just wasn't in the mood for reading.

Maybe it would be better if he went and walked Titus?

Damian walked towards the place where his beloved dog might have been napping at. He twisted and turned around the manor until Damian finally found him in ____’s room.

The dog laid at the foot of the bed and Damian resisted the urge to look at anything more than Titus.

“Titus, come,” Damian commanded, his voice wavered though. Titus did not move.

“Titus” this time more firmly. Titus did not move.

“Titus, please” his plea was said with a type of desperation that Damian didn't want to examine. Titus did not move.

It was clear now that the only way to get Titus to move was to enter the room himself.

Damian closed the door.

He guessed he just wasn't in the mood to walk.

Damian walked to the cave, enough dawdling, time to earn his title as RoBi-

Damian entered the cave. The echo was worse but Damian continued. Soon he heard voices.

“Master Bruce plea-”

“Enough Alfred,”

“But what about Master Dami-”

“Enough Alfred”

“He’s just lost his favorite broth-”

“Enough Alfred”

“Master Dick would be appalled-”

“Enough, Alfred” here the words were said with an edge, with heavy emphases. Both men paused, observing, examining, and thinking.

“Very well. May at least call Master Jason and Master Timothy over?” Alfred gives in.

“You can try” was his father’s honest reply.

D___ was- 

Di__ was- 

Dic_ was-

Dick was-

Damian muffled a cry. He held his shaking hands against his lips and wondered if it was too much to hope that they hadn't heard him.

Damian rushes up the staircase, ignoring the shouts behind him as he goes.

Dick was dead, it hadn't been an awful dream, it hadn't been a horrible hallucination, it hadn't been a terrifying nightmare.

Damian runs past the kitchen, runs past the library, runs past his own room. He only stops when he reaches the room he had been too scared to entire. He slowly grabs the doorknob and turns it.

It swings open and Damian is assaulted by all the emotions he had been trying so hard to keep under wraps.

Because the room? The room smelled like Dick. 

He took a step forward, then another, then another, then another, until he was standing in the middle of the room.

He couldn't dare to touch anything.

He drops to his knees, an ugly sob making it past his lips. Titus finally, finally moves. He holds the great Dane tightly as he screams his protest for all the world to hear.

An hour goes by before his tears start to subside. His face was red and blotchy and irritated.

He wipes at his cheeks with a heavy hand.

“If father had died, Grayson would have never left me alone to spew in my room” Damian whispers the horrible, horrible truth into Titus’s fur.

“In fact, when father had died, Grayson had proven so,” Damian feels like crying again. 

He lost more then a favorite brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sort of basing this story on the Five Stages of Grief.
> 
> I hope this one was an okay Denial.


	3. Chapter 3

“Shift your center of gravity a bit more, that’s it”

“Swing your hands less, you're throwing off your balance”

“Add an extra flip. Why? Because you're a performer and the world's your stage”

“Spread your legs a little more, make it look effortless”

“Jump more, gravity’s a social construct anyway”

“Perfect little D!”

Damian could feel a tired smile stretch on his lips as his mentor’s words curled around his ear. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel. He completed a complicated flip and felt his equilibrium shift for a moment before he righted himself again.

Then, suddenly, his grip on the trapeze loosened and he plummeted.

He fell with a yelp and hit the ground hard.

Damian laid there, still as a corpse.

He clenched his fists and his mouth took the form of a snarl. How pathetic. How was he supposed to be Nightwing when he could barely keep himself from falling? Dick would never have made such a blunder.

“Don't be so hard on yourself little D, it’s okay to make mistakes” Dick’s familiar voice whispered. Damian ignored it.

He drew himself up and grunted when he felt his back give a groan of protest. 

Damian continued despite it.

“Master Damian, I do think that it’s time for you to go to bed,” Alfred said softly from the doorway of the gym.

“Not yet Pennyworth, not until I can do it with my eyes closed,” Damian answered as he climbed up the ladder to start again at the routine.

It was a routine Dick had shown him once, the Flying Grayson’s regimen.

“You may very well have to at the rate you're going,” Alfred’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. Damian frowned.

“You hardly cared last night,” Damian spit out.

“One or two nights of not sleeping I can understand, it’s hardly par the normal circumstances, but three is a stretch”

“Well it’s a good thing that this isn't normal circumstances then,” Damian answered, already more focused on making his jump than Alfred’s useless words.

“Master Dick would have wanted you to rest,” that was, of course, until the butler had the gall to say that.

“Master Dick is dead,” Damian snarled. Hot rage rushing from his chest to his hands to his head. He came back to the platform, shaking with fury. 

His cold sweat was replaced with burning warmth as adrenaline coursed through his body. His tired limbs gaining the strength they so desperately needed and his sleepy eyes awakening with a vengeance.

“Master Damian please,” Alfred begged, but Damian was too far gone. Too angry, too tired, to warm, too full. He was bursting at the seams as his once numb mind was overcome with feelings of wrath.

“Do not presume to think that you could make me do anything. I am- I am-” but Damian stopped short. His mind halting at the sight of Alfred’s tired face. His wrinkles were more pronounced and his gray hair lifeless and oily.

His anger left him all too suddenly.

He trembled as the adrenaline that had once warmed him only left him cold in its absence.

“Leave me, I do not wish to look upon your face any longer,” Damian growled. He turned back to the equipment that Dick had spent countless hours practicing on.

He took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the handle, he ignored the fact that Alfred had not left.

“Dami! No no no, you're holding it all wrong!”

“Adjust your grip, there you go!”

“Swing like you're about to jump into a vat of boiling acid. Don't look at me like that it’s a totally valid comparison”

And Damian was gone, gone to a world were the only thing that mattered were the words of advice from his Baba.

Damian continued like this for an hour before it became too much.

One second, his eyes were open, and the next he was lost to the world.

Damian woke up with a gasp of pain. He winced as pain spiked in his lower ribs.

“I see you're awake,” a voice said from his right. Damian tried to sit up but was immediately assaulted with overwhelming pain.

“I wouldn't attempt that,” Alfred said dispassionately.

“Don't tell me what to do” Damian hissed.

“I will for as long as you act like a spoiled child” Alfred raised an eyebrow, as though daring him to say otherwise. Unfortunately, Damian was never one to back down from a challenge.

“I’m not a child!” he shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the cave as some restless bats flapped their wings in response.

“But you don't refute being spoiled?” Alfred asked, intrigued.

“I don't refute baseless insults,” Damian’s voice full of venom.

“So you agree that you are a child” there was a note of humor in Alfred’s tone that made Damian instantly want to stab someone.

“Fuck you” the words were said coldly.

“Language Master Damian” Alfred scolded. Damian stayed silent, he had nothing more to say to the man, nothing more he wanted to hear either.

“I watched the footage. We all did. Master Bruce had wanted to see who had killed Master Dick and he lingered far too long to be appropriate” his interest was instantly brought back. 

How dare they, Damian seethed.

“And you didn't stop him,” Damian stated, more than questioned.

“I tried” 

“Don't play innocent with me Pennyworth. We both know that there is nothing you're incapable of doing if you really wish to” Damian narrowed his eyes, glaring at the man.

“You’re far overestimating my abilities” Alfred tried to tease. It fell short, however.

“It seems to me that you bank on others underestimating them, do forgive me if I don't fall for it,” Damian’s disdain was audible. 

“Apology accepted,” Alfred said sadly. Damian scoffed at the words.

The two sat in silence, Alfred bustling around the room as Damian laid still on the examination table. Finally, Alfred stopped, he turned around with a briefcase in his hands, fingers subconsciously playing with the lock.

“I didn't bring up Master Dick’s final moments just to anger you, there was a reason,” Alfred revealed.

“A reason more than being honest?” Damian asked spitefully.

“Please Master Damian, stop- just, stop” Damian obliged, feelings of shame crawling up his spin.

Alfred helped Damian up into a sitting position before handing him the briefcase. Damian hesitated at the lock, wondering at it. He looked up in confusion but Alfred was already off.

Damian played with the mechanics a bit before a crazed thought occurred to him. He entered the code and watched with hungry eyes as the lock opened.

Dick’s date of birth, how appropriate, Damian thought dazedly.

He opened the case and sucked in a harsh breath.

His hands shook as he hesitantly took the contents of the case out. He held it out in front of him and was struck with the utterly devastating thought that Dick had planned this.

Because in his hands, was a Nightwing suit perfectly tailored to his size.

Damian felt a hysterical laugh bubble up his throat.

He shouldn't be surprised, Dick had been Batman after all. And Batman? Batman planned for everything.

His ribs smarted as he laughed and laughed and laughed. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe.

His laughter became less and less uniformed as the lack of air racked his lungs. His chest tightens and his throat constricts and his heart feels so fucking heavy. 

God, he’s so tired.

He’s tired of being angry.

He’s tired of being numb.

He’s tired of being full of adrenaline

But most of all?

He’s tired of being tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is anger
> 
> next comes bargaining.


	4. Chapter 4

The first time Damian put on the suit he felt hollow. Alfred looked on from afar as Damian carefully extended his limbs and tested out the mobility.

The suit fit him like a glove. It hugged him tightly and engulfed him fully in its embrace. Like a pale imitation of Dick Grayson’s strong arms

It was comforting at the time, a heavy weight on his heart but a welcomed one.

Now Damian knew it for what it truly was, a punishment. A curse from the heavens themselves for failing his mentor.

It was a chain around his neck that Damian knew he deserved. A chain that Damian hoped would one day choke him.

He knew that Dick would never have meant it to be this way, that he would never have wanted his last gift to Damian to be tainted in such a way.

But Damian ruined all he touched. It was only fitting that he would destroy the symbol of love and hope that Nightwing had been meant to be.

The first time he had gone out on patrol in the suit Drake had screamed at him, had shouted and cursed and hit. Drake had gone at him with the intent to hurt, to rip Nightwing off his body like it hadn't become his second skin the moment he had first worn it. 

He did not fight back.

He did not raise his fists.

He did not dodge.

He laid there and took it.

Drake had stopped suddenly when he realized that Damian would not defend himself, he left in a huff and that had been the last Damian had seen of the other boy in months.

The first time Todd had seen him in the suit he had been silent. He had not fought, yell, curse.

Instead, he took a deep long look at Damian from behind his helmet and said nothing. It hurt far worse than any physical pain Drake had caused.

The others ignored him, as though by not acknowledging him they could make him disappear.

Damian wished it was that simple.

Three months.

Three months since Dick Grayson died and it still hadn't gotten easier to breathe. Every inhale was a red poison choking him, clogging his throat and every exhale, a death sentence.

Damian had never known that you could feel a color.

He shifted slightly, his suit sitting upon his body like a second skin. It was too tight, too tight, too tight. He looked down at the symbol on the suit, the blue bird hugging his chest. Its embrace was crushing rather than comforting today.

Damian couldn’t breathe.

Every movement reminded him of how he was wearing the skin of his mentor.

Damian closed his eyes.

Three months and it was finally time. He had been patient, he had waited, he had controlled himself and now it would all pay off.

Finally, Dick Grayson’s corpse was unattended.

Perhaps his brother would hate him, but he would rather Dick hate him then be dead.

It was simple, easy, to get onto manor grounds.

Batman was busy with an Arkham breakout.

Drake was in San Francisco.

Todd was with his Outlaws team.

Oracle was helping Batman.

Black Bat was in Tokyo

And Brown was... somewhere. It didn't really matter as long as she wasn't here.

Damian was careful in his movements as he started his trek to the graveyard.

It only took a few hours before Damian was done digging.

His limbs were numb but better numb then burning.

Damian carefully opened the coffin containing his brother’s body. The lid was heavy and made his hands tremble under the weight. He cracked it open.

The thing that made Damian want to gag was not the sight of his brother’s rotting corpse, not the maggots digging deeply into his eyes, not the worms laying upon his brother’s chest, not even the bloated limbs, but rather the scent. The smell made Damian want to throw up. It was sharp and acidic and lingering in a way that made Damian want to crawl out of his skin.

It was indescribable.

A scent Damian had thought he had gotten used to but he was wrong, so very wrong. 

For how could he ever get used to the thought that this horrible smell was in any way connected to his once lively brother?

Damian ignored how his nose burned and got to work moving the body.

His gloves were heavy duty and he was already regretting the fact that he decided against using a hazmat suit.

He gently and lovingly put his Baba in the wagon. He brushed off the maggots and worms, ignored the decayed flesh, blew off the dirt that made it’s home on Dick’s once beautiful face, and stripped him bare of his clothes.

He took a step back and blinked rapidly so the retched burning of his eyelids he had gotten so used to these past few months would disappear.

He closed his eyes.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

He should have pressed harder.

Damian’s tears were silent, no longer the loud sobs of pain they once were.

He had gotten too used to crying.

Pathetic.

The driver was a Gothammite through and through. He had taken his money and didn't ask any questions.

The pilot was a little less understanding but a bit more money had snipped the man’s doubt in the bud.

It took a total of four days to get to his mother’s hideout.

Four days of having no one for company besides the rotting corpse of his brother.

Sometimes, when he was more lonely than usual, he’d whisper his woes to the lifeless body. He’d tell his dead brother all about how Drake was in San Fransico, how Todd was off with his outlaw friends, how father was burying himself in work, how Barabra was dating some nobody but he was sure that as soon as Dick was brought back to life she’d drop the loser and the two could get back together if he so wished. He told him about the new ward father had picked up named Duke Thomas. 

Sometimes, when the night was especially long he’d tell him things that were wedged deeply in his heart. Things he had never said out loud.

How Damian only felt normal in the arms of his mentor.

How he was more his father then Bruce ever was.

How he sometimes wishes that Bruce had never come back to life.

How he wishes that Dick had never given him away to his “true” father, like the bond that they had forged was any less true just because it lacked the necessary blood.

How Dick had been a hypocrite for preaching that blood didn't automatically make family yet was so sure that Damian would be better off in Bruce’s hands than his own.

How sometimes, when he thought of himself, it wasn't the name al Ghul or Wayne that was attached to him, but rather Grayson.

How much he hated him.

Despised him.

Cursed him.

Loathed him.

How much he loved him.

Adored him.

Needed him.

Missed him.

How all his actions and inactions made Damian’s chest hurt in different ways.

Damian whispered all his closest kept secrets to the corpse of his brother because it was only when the man was dead that his tongue loosened and his mouth opened.

Throughout it all, the smell of decay accompanied him.

“Hello my son,” Talia stood before him, an obstacle to his quest.

“Talia” Damian nodded his head in greeting.

“Even when you come before me in need of my favor you refuse to give me the proper respect that I deserve,” Talia seemed unamused.

“I have called you by your true name. What more respect could you want?” Damian raised an eyebrow.

“A son should call his mother by her title, not her given name” Talia challenged.

“It’s a good thing your not my mother then,” Damian replied. Talia’s face grew red in anger, her rage a cutting aura around her.

“You are the child of my blood, of my bone, of my soul. You can not forsake me when I have made you!” she shouted at Damian.

“What has blood ever done but disappoint me? Which of my kin has not betrayed me? I have set aside the names al Ghul and Wayne and all that come with them, the good or bad, it matters not to me. There is only one name I have left and it is one I hold close to my chest, one that will never leave my lips let alone another's” Damian spat back. Talia took a step back, her face blanks before her eyes hardened and her lips drew back into a snarl.

“If you have discarded the name al Ghul then you can not use the pit! It is only through our connection that you would have ever been allowed to use the Lazarus waters! Do not be a fool my son, if you continue down this route I will be forced to cease your idiotic plans,” Talia warned, her stance dangerous and her hands ready. 

Damian took a deep breath, his nose burned when all that met it was decay. It was a truly awful scent but it did his job and reminded him of his still dead brother.

“I am Damian, the current Nightwing, protege of Dick Grayson and you can not stop me” Damian pulled out his escrima sticks and attacked immediately.

Damian dragged Dick’s body as he limped to the room that held the pits. It was a long trek made no shorter by the weight in his arms.

His mother had not held back, that much was certain, but for all her danger she was still just another obstacle in his eyes, an obstacle he just overcome.

Damian looked at the green waters, his hands heavy.

“I promise- I promise that I will tell you everything when you come back” Damian swore solemnly to the body.

He gently placed the body into the water and watched as is sunk in. 

He waited, the clock started ticking and as every minute went by without his brother breaking through the surface Damian’s heart sank deeper.

An hour went by as he stared desperately at the green pit. The ragged breathing of his mother disturbs him. Blood trailed from behind her and her knees shook but any sympathy Damian might have felt was ruined by the smug smirk on her beautiful face.

“You foolish child, his body is too damaged. He can not be brought back by the pits. Poor little Damian, you waited too long and now your brother can never come back!” Talia laughed, her voice high and cruel.

Damian closed his eyes at the sound. 

He brought his hands to his eyes and held back a scream.

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Should have pressed harder.

Waited too long

Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough. Never good enough.

Why could Damian just do one thing right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this took to update, this chapter was kinda hard for me to write.
> 
> Y'all have probably noticed this but through every stage of grief, depression is a cloud hanging over Damian's head.
> 
> that's because in my own experience with grief I've never just had one clear stage, my emotions were always messed up with one another and the one that took center stage was denial in my case.
> 
> I know that most would expect Damian's to be anger because he's an angry person in general, but that's exactly why I didn't do that. Damian just lost his brother, mentor, and father-figure all in one go. yes, it would easer for me to make anger his accompanying emotion but I wanted to truly show how much losing Dick has effected him. 
> 
> I'm sorry if I'm not making sense.


	5. Chapter 5

“Master Damian?” Alfred asked gently. Damian didn't look up, didn't open his eyes, didn't move. He didn't even have the energy to get angry at the man for treating him like he was fine china.

“I have brought your supper. I would recommend eating it, it’s been three days since you last had anything,” Alfred says hesitantly. The past week has been unnerving for the old man. Where once Damian was driven with purpose, now he was a shell of his former self. Where once Damian was angry, now he was indifferent. Where once Damian was always on the move, now he was still.

Unfeeling, uncaring, unmoving. It was so much worse than what it had ever been.

“I will leave your food here,” Alfred says as he lowers the food to Damian’s desk before making a swift retreat.

He couldn't stand looking at the dead thing his grandson had become.

Damian opened his eyes as soon as he heard Alfred close the door. He heaved himself up and grit his teeth at the feeling of pins and needles that attacked his leg. He waited a few seconds, carefully raising and lowering his legs, stretching them out.

Eventually, he moved from the bed. He walked slowly towards his desk, every step weighing more than he knew how to carry. 

He was Atlas and the heavens were holding him down.

Where once he prospered in the sky’s embrace, now he faltered.

Damian reached for the spoon on the plate of food Alfred had left him.

He brought the spoon up to his lips and opened.

Taking a bite was easy, it was swallowing that was hard. He chewed slowly and purposely, ignoring how every fiber of his being wanted him to spit it out. Then, when it was chewed to a sufficient degree, he swallowed.

The feeling of the food traveling down his throat was slimy and dry and unappetizing. He had no idea that something could be so contradictory.

Over and over again he repeated.

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

Just one more bite

It was never enough.

His plate was still full and he was still empty.

He was void of substance but no matter how much he ate he couldn't fill himself up.

Why was it so flavorless?

Why was it so bland?

Why was it so hard?

Why was everything so hard?

Eating shouldn't be this hard.

Eating was never this hard.

Over and over the thoughts circled.

Whenever Damian tried to reach up and pluck one of them they slipped through his fingers like he was reaching for fog.

The closer he got the farther away they moved.

The more he saw the less he noticed.

The less he noticed the less he cared.

His thoughts came and went and he was but a powerless prisoner trapped in his own brain.

His cage was made of sorrow and his chains of detachment.

Damian sat at his desk slowly- slowly- slowly- slowly- slowly- slowly- slowly moving to look for his art supplies.

It was Friday, he had to draw today.

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

Damian sat at his desk-

He clutched at his pencil and tightened and untightened his hold, his fingers growing white from the pressure.

He. 

He couldn't.

He couldn't move.

He couldn’t move his.

He couldn’t move his pencil.

Why couldn’t he move his stupid pencil?

Damian felt a short burst of anger.

It burned him up, made him want to rage and scream, made him want to hit and scream and ki-

It disappeared just as quickly as it came, leaving his hands shaking and his palms sweaty.

Damian heard his pencil fall to the floor as he dropped his face into his hands.

Why couldn't he do anything right?

Titus was never far from him, constantly whining and pushing his nose against Damian’s leg. Alfred the cat sat contently in his lap and meowed pathetically at him.

Damian loved his pets.

But-

But he couldn't bear to move.

He couldn't get the scent of rotting flesh from out of his nose, the smell forever tied to the memory of his brother (mentor, father) now.

It made Damian want to retch.

Why couldn't he do anything right?

Damian stood up, he- he needed to patrol.

He was- he was Nightwing now.

He couldn't let Dick down.

His steps were heavy and steady, the world was weighing him down and his feet took the brunt of his burden.

Damian was in Bludhaven.

The home of Nightwing.

Damian’s new home.

He had neglected to tell his father (or Alfred, or Todd, or Drake, or Gorden, or Brown, or Cain, or Thomas the new kid)

Damian was alone.

He pushed himself off the edge and was flying.

“Look at you go lil’D!” a familiar voice whispered excitedly in his ear.

“Your punch was a little weak there Dami, you catching a cold?”

“Keep. Your. Legs. Together”

“That was a beautiful flip, encore! Encore!”

“Don't think I don't see you hiding that bullet wound!”

Damian felt a shit eating grin pull at his lips.

How come it was only when he was flying that he heard his mentor’s voice?

It hurt to hear, but if he could bottle it up and keep it close to his ear so that it would always be yapping, then he wouldn't hesitate.

Damian watched without emotion as Batman yelled at him in front of the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes.

He didn't yell back

He didn't try to justify himself.

He didn't say anything.

He just watched and waited.

“You had orders to not bring Nightwing’s body to the pit but you disregarded them and did it anyway,” Batman finally slowed to a halt.

No one said anything.

“So?” Damian asked. Batman stilled, his movements growing hyper-focused.

“So?” Bruce’s voice was dangerous at that moment, a warning to all not to push. 

Damian ignored it.

“It didn't work, else we’d be having a very different conversation,” Damian said without feeling. 

“You should be fucking happy it didn't work you little shit,” Jason hissed from behind him. He took a threatening step forward but Damian simply raised an eyebrow.

“For all you insistence that no one uses the pit you sure do seem fine reaping the benefits anyway,” it was a low blow, a horrible, horrible thing to say but Damian didn't care. How dare they try to vilify him when he was doing more than any of them had ever tried?

“What did you just say to me?” Jason’s voice was quiet, calm even.

Damian wondered if this is what would make the man snap and kill him. 

He hoped Bruce didn't try to save him, it would be funnier if Damian died and Jason was banished from the family again.

Imagine it, three members of the Batclan gone in one year. Two dead and one outlawed.

Hey, look, outlaw, outlaw. Damian was truly a god of humor. 

“Enough,” Batman interrupted. Damian rolled his eyes.

“Damian, give up your suit your benched for the month,”

“You already have my Robin suit,”

“Not your Robin suit,”

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian stopped-

Damian moved-

Rage burned him as he grabbed it by the horns. Many had warned that its fire would consume him, but Damian would like nothing more.

“I’d rather die than let you decide the fate of Nightwing. I am not Robin and you can not order me,” Damian hissed, an entity of fury itself.

“I’m your father and you are a child,” Bruce reminded him. Like Damian could ever fucking forget.

“Oh, so now you're my father? Now you use that card? Now you acknowledge our connection? I’m sorry to inform you Wayne-” the word was spat out of his mouth like the worst of curses “-but you haven't been my father in years! It’s too late to try and pretend, now you're nothing but the sperm donor to me!”

“I gave you a home! I gave you a family! I gave you Robin!”

“No you fucking didn't! You were cruel, you were distrustful, and you were a giant asshole! Oh wait! None of that’s changed! Dick gave me a home! Dick gave me a family! Dick gave me Robin! Don't you dare try and steal his accomplishment as your own when the only thing you’ve bothered to do is fuck everything up! I wish you were still dead because if you were then Dick never would have left!”

Quiet, utter silence. But Damian’s not done, words start to pour out of his mouth.

“I hate you with every fiber of my being, I hate that you're still alive when Dick’s not. I hate that you coming back made Dick leave Gotham. I hate that you never tried with me, how you just assumed that because Dick was out of the way I’d transfer my feelings from him to you without you having to put in any of the work. I hate that it almost worked. I hate that legally my last name is Wayne. I hate that you're my father. I hate that no matter what I do you’ll always try and use that connection to control me. I hate that you let Dick die!”

Damian may hate himself, but god did he hate Bruce more.

“I saved your life!”

“And now you crucify me for attempting to do the same with your other son!”

“It’s different,” Bruce justified.

“How!” Damian was panting, his nose was red, and his hands were shaking.

“Because Dick never wanted to be brought back” Jason answered instead of Bruce, bringing Damian’s attention away from his father.

“What?” Damian asked.

“Dick never wanted to be brought back” Jason repeated.

“No, you're lying!”

“Why do you think we haven't dumped him in the pit yet?” Tim asked, finally speaking up.

“Because- because-” Damian couldn't- he couldn't

“Because what? Were evil obstacles standing in the way of you bringing back your perfect brother?” Tim raised his eyebrows.

Damian didn't move.

“Look brat, I get it. You loved goldie but he ain't coming back. There's a reason we waited three months before we stopped patrolling the graveyard,” Jason said gently. 

Damian-

Damian-

Damian-

Damian-

Damian-

Damian hated Dick Grayson.

God, he had never hated his mentor more than he did now.

Why would he do this to him?

How could he do this to him?

Did Damian mean nothing to him?

Was Damian truly nothing to him?

Damian didn't bother pausing for his “family” to say anymore before he was gone.

Gone to where Dick Grayson’s body resided.

“You- you dick” Damian knelt before his mentor’s grave like it was an altar and he was praying to a vengeful god.

He snorted at his own play on words, his baba would have been proud.

“You left me,” He asked the grave.

“Did you think I wouldn’t mind?” Damian’s hand reached out and hesitantly touched the words on his mentor’s grave. He traced out the word brother with reverence.

On the list of things he was, father should have been added. 

“Did you think I would forgive you?” Damian questioned softly. His words were bitter and angry but no matter how hard he tried, they weren’t hateful.

“Well jokes on me because I will,” he said under his breath and wondered if this was all he amounted to, a pathetic child unable to lay blame on the shoulders of the man that ruined him.

“I can't live in a world where I hate Dick Grayson” and so, the truth was said. It sears his throat and he chokes as ash settles on his tongue.

How pathetic.

“Did you know that? Is that why you so easily disregarded my emotions? Because you knew I would always forgive you? You're dead and all I can think about is how you left me. You left me,” the last sentence was uttered with grim, heavy, certainty.

“You left me and I can’t even hate you”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left!
> 
> Up comes acceptance


	6. Chapter 6

The bell rings and Alfred restrains from sighing as he gets up, his joints popping slightly at the movement. 

He moves towards the door and wonders if Master Jason or Timothy was finally in for a visit.

More likely it was a reporter that was somehow able to get it.

Rather remarkable but not impossible.

Alfred hums as he opens the door, getting ready to greet the person who had visited.

He stops.

He stares.

His mind tries to make sense of what he is seeing.

“Hello Pennyworth,” the man before him nods in greeting and it snaps Alfred out of his head.

“Master Damian, it’s been too long. Come in,” Alfred pushes the door open and watches with sharp eyes as the man walks in.

His walk was vaguely familiar but Alfred couldn't for the life of him remember why.

His movements were confident, contained, controlled. It made Alfred’s chest warm-up in pride for the boy. 

His hands were scarred and his fingers slightly crooked but they were steady as he picked up a photograph of Master Jason and Master Timothy at the beach.

They didn't start shaking until they reached for a photo of Master Dick. Alfred felt his heart break for the man before him as he picked up the picture almost reverently.

“If you don't mind me asking, what has brought you back to our doorstep?” Alfred asked, needing to break the atmosphere that had built itself around Damian like walls made of steel.

“I need to talk to Batman, something of great importance has happened in the League of Assassins and he needs to be informed,” Damian puts down the picture gently.

“I wasn't aware you were in the know of League business” the statement was sharp, sharper than it should have been but Alfred stood strong by his words. He would throw out Master Damian himself if he found out that he had gone back to be an assassin. It would break his heart, but he would do it.

“I may not be the great and powerful Batman, but I am Nightwing. I have my own way of finding things out,” spies perhaps?

“Very well, come along” Alfred starts to lead Damian to the cave and feels a shiver go down his spine as he finally remembers who Damian walks like.

It wasn't Talia, who walked with deadly grace.

Nor was it Bruce, who walked with silent but grounded steps.

No, he walked like Master Dick, with light footsteps that barely touched the ground. Like he was seconds away from floating off into the sky and no one could stop him.

What did it mean that out of the two powerful parents that Damian had, he chose instead to walk like Dick Grayson?

“Master Bruce, we have company,” Alfred said, drawing Bruce away from the computer.

Bruce looked up in confusion before his eyes started to widen at the sight of Damian.

“Damian?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief. 

In response, Damian rolled his eyes and nodded yes.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I have information that I wished to share,” Damian pulled out a flash drive before throwing it at Bruce. Bruce catches it without looking away from Damian.

“Will you- will you be staying for dinner?”

“No,” Damian says firmly, starting to walk away.

“Wait!” Bruce shouts, desperate for his son not to walk away so soon after coming back.

“Please, meet your new brother. Cass misses you and Jason was even complaining yesterday that you took all common sense with you,” Damian looks at him, his expression unreadable and Bruce wonders if he’s made a mistake.

“Very well, one night but that’s it. I don't like to be away from Bludhaven for too long,” Damian says slowly.

And with that, he walks away once more.

Damian wondered if he needed to wear something fancy for this dinner. It wasn't like it was a gala, but was also a get together after years apart.

Damian pulls out a t-shirt and jeans.

Nah, if they wanted him to wear a suit they should have told him. He didn't care enough to wear a suit on his own prompting.

Damian put on a jacket on his way out, nodding goodbye to the man at the front desk.

He leaves the hotel and catches a cab to Wayne Manor. The man looks at him weirdly when he says the address but doesn’t question it.

When they finally pull up to the gates Damian all but jumps out of the car. He pays the man his due and doesn't bother watching as the cab leaves.

He opens the gate with a key he had stolen from one of Todd’s safehouses. He walks up to the door and rings the bell. 

Batman is the one to open the door this time, his voice slightly breathless as he invites him in. Damian nods sharply in greeting and walks in.

Loud voices and delicious scents are coming from the dining room and Damian doesn't hesitate to walk towards it, his father a silent presence from behind him.

When the two enter the room all noise stops. 

“Oh shit, B wasn't lying!” Todd exclaims gleefully. Cain hits the back of his head and Todd whines in response.

Damian doesn't bother waiting for permission, he just pulls up an empty chair settles himself in, zeroing in on the food so he doesn't have to focus on his “siblings”

“So, how have you been baby bat?” Brown asks him. Damian wonders if he could just ignore her. Dick’s voice scolds him for being impolite to someone that had done nothing to deserve it.

“Well enough,” he answers vaguely.

“Why are you here” Drake cuts straight to the point and suddenly the tension is suffocating.

“I had information about the League’s recent movements that I needed to share with Batman” Damian replies shortly.

That gets a look of distrust from just about everyone except the new kid.

“So, you must be Batman’s new son” Damian stretches a handout, thanking God for the fact that the other boy was seated next to him.

“What? No raging jealousy?” Drake snarks.

“I’m not you Drake,” Damian says back just as snidely.

“Guys really? We just started eating,” Todd whines.

“Jason’s right. Enough,” Batman says firmly. Damian rolls his eyes but starts eating.

There’s a light conversation all around the table, none directed at him. It seems they learned their lesson. 

“So you're Nightwing right?” the new kid asks. Damian gives him a look. 

It seems like not everyone learned. Or does he like chaos?

The table quiets again.

“The second Nightwing yes,” Damian clarifies. 

“I guess you must have been close to the first Nightwing then,” Thomas (he's at least 60% sure his name is Thomas)

“He was like a father to me” Damian replies honestly. Everyone turns to look at Batman but Damian continues to eat his food undisturbed. He doesn't care what effect his words have.

“But? You have a father?”

“I was adopted by Richard Grayson, my last name is Grayson, I am Nightwing,” Damian says firmly, his eyes daring the other boy to contradict him.

At his words, chaos erupts.

“Dick adopted the brat?”

“What does he mean by saying his last name is Grayson?”

“B did you know about this?”

“Am I having a fever dream?”

“Enough!” Batman shouts, silencing everyone.

No one speaks.

“Yes, I was aware of Dick adopting Damian. It was when I was dead. And yes, I was aware that Damian changed his last name”

“And you're completely A-okay with this?” Todd asks incredulously.

“Damian’s an adult, he can do what he wants,” Batman tells them all.

“He wasn't an adult when he left,” Cain says quietly

“No, no he wasn't,” Batman's face is pained.

“So your last name is really Grayson?” Drake asks.

“Yes,” Damian says shortly.

“Huh”

“How's Bludhaven?” Cain asks.

“Still a shit hole but it’s home” Damian shrugs.

The rest of the night goes on and by the time dinner finishes Damian is the first to leave.

He doesn't think he’ll ever come back.

Damian takes a train back to Bludhaven and doesn't look back. 

He used to have a problem with letting go of things. He still has that problem, but it’s not acting up right now so he supposes that he doesn't mind letting go of what was once his family.

Damian opens his apartment and is immediately hit with a betrayed meow. Damian crutches down and pets Alfred the cat on the head in an attempt to apologize.

He quickly sets to work fixing Alfred his dinner.

“I’m sorry,” Damian says as he sets down a plate. Alfred huffs slightly before getting ready to eat.

Damian smile.

He spends the rest of the night checking up on his plants.

He had a system for checking to see if he watered them for that day. A different color for every day of the week. If he watered them he’d put a posted note with the right color on the pot and then he’d not if he missed a plant for whatever reason.

A loud chirp from the living room makes Damian smile.

He walks towards the couch and sees his bird sitting comfortably on the edge of it.

“Hello Richard,” Damian says softly as he puts a finger next to the blue bird’s cheek.

The bird nuzzles into it and Damian feels a big smile scratch across his face.

A phone call interrupts and Damian reluctantly removes his hand.

He picks up the phone and is immediately assaulted with four worried voices at once.

“Where were you?” one of the voices shouts.

“Gotham,” Damian says, rolling his eyes.

“Bro, we were so worried when you didn't show up for group therapy,” Jon says seriously from the other side of the line.

“I called Ms. Less to tell her I wouldn't show up,” Damian defends.

“Can't we be worried? You never miss a day of therapy unless something life-threatening is happening. Excuse us for being concerned” Maya says sarcastically.

“Your forgiven” Damian snarks back.

“Guys please,” Colin pleads. Both Maya and Damian back down.

“So while that's great and all, what happened with your ex fam?” Suren interrupts, always one looking for gossip.

“I gave over the information and then they invited me for dinner. I accepted and then left as soon as the food was finished,” Damian summarized, leaving out a few details.

Clearly, everyone knew that because there were quite a few disbelieving sounds.

“If you would genuinely like to check up on me I will permit you to enter my apartment,” there were cheers and whoops of delight and Damian felt another smile coming.

It had been a while since he had smiled so much.

Damian spent the next few minutes cleaning his apartment before there was a knock at his door.

Damian opened it and was immediately pulled into a hug by Maya. Damian wrapped his arms around her and just held her.

A burst of wind went by and Colin was dropped off.

Damian opened his arm in invitation and Colin didn't hesitate before jumping in.

Another burst of wind and both Jon and Suren were there.

“Group hug!” Jon shouted excitedly, joining in without hesitation, dragging Suren in with him.

Damian smiled widely as Suren complained of being squished on all sides, as Maya called him a wimp, as Jon’s arms kept Suren from escaping, as Colin laughed.

They spent the next few hours catching up with one another and “discreetly” looking for any tells that Damian was falling back into his dark cloud.

They all left as soon as they were assured that he was okay. They hugged him goodbye and made him promise not to miss the next group therapy session.

“Remember the deal Grayson!” Suren shouts as he leaves, no doubt knowing just how warm and happy he was making Damian by calling him by that name.

Damian spends the next few minutes just soaking in the happiness of the day.

When he finally feels like he’s memorized the feeling he hauls himself up.

He puts on his suit, no longer the first one he had gotten so many years ago, but rather a new fitted one.

Damian leaves through the window and starts his patrol. He feels the familiar voice of his mentor whisper in his ear. 

And Damian? Damian flew. The sky was his home and he was meant for the air. A bird, a robin, a flying Grayson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the last line of this story is the first line I wrote.
> 
> also, in case anyone's curious, the deal Suren was referring to is one where Damian's group of friends make him agree to go to therapy as long as they all go together. 
> 
> Anywho, thank you to anyone that stuck with this story. I hope it was an okay ending. I wanted to make it hopeful but I have no clue if it succeeded.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
